


After School Club

by cametobuyplums



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chubby bucky barnes, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cametobuyplums/pseuds/cametobuyplums
Summary: A new academic year but a story that’s nothing new. He’s studious and she likes to party. He hates her and she despises him. He’s a virgin and she’s his first.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckysthighs134](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckysthighs134/gifts).



> Hello, loves. This is based on a request I received on Tumblr. It was quite fluffy, and I, well, I turned it into this.
> 
> Thank you so much to
> 
> [buckmesideways22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckmesideways22/pseuds/Buckmesideways22)
> 
> for being an incredibly lovely person. She is both the beta and the source of encouragement to turn this into a series.

A Monday as dull as any. Rain pounds the grey pavement, sunshine failing in attempts to break through the stormy grey clouds. A timely ripple of lightning flashing through the windows. A streak of light that falls over the untouched notepad. Fresh and free of creases. It’s almost poetic, the way Bucky slides it open, inhaling in the scent of a new academic year.

Chatter slowly rises. Bucky the first of many students as the lecture hall slowly fills. A front row seat, it affords him an uninterrupted view of both the whiteboard and the door. Somewhat unlucky, as he avoids the gaze of Vivian. His ex-girlfriend, the very one who dumped him only a week ago and left his summer holidays with a sour taste. A lie that he saw through all too easily. She’s not grown apart from him. No, she’s no longer  _attracted_  to him. A softening middle and a few extra pounds that he gained working a summer job in his local diner. The sideways glances, he’d noticed those. The way she would falsely giggle and push him off when kisses became too heated, he’d noticed those too. The girl that Bucky thought he loved, the girl he thought he would have his first time with, the girl that broke his heart.

Thankfully, it’s Steve Rogers through the door next. His best friend from childhood, he claps Bucky on the shoulder and takes the seat beside him. Natasha Romanoff follows him closely, her best friend Clint Barton completing their little quartet.

“What are the chances we don’t have to share this class with  _her_?” asks Natasha boredly, as Clint wraps an arm around the back of her chair.

“Highly unlikely.” grumbles Bucky, pen poised at the ready.

“What’s the big deal, man?” quips Clint. “She’s kinda cool. So are her friends. Wilson totally complimented my golf swing the other day.”

“Wilson’s not so bad,” agrees Natasha. “It’s  _her_  I can’t stand. She thinks she’s  _so_   _pretty_.”

“Bucky thinks she’s pretty, too,” teases Steve, and Bucky turns bright red. “Do you still have a crush on her?”

“Shut up, Steve. I don’t.”

“Speak of the devil…”

A creak as the lecture door opens. Music blears loudly from Sam’s phone, an accompanying explanation to Wanda about the artist. She listens attentively, nodding her head along in time to the beat. A hushed comment from Steve, muttered under his breath but Bucky hears it all the same. Sam’s biceps  _do_ look like they’ve grown over the summer.

Natasha makes a jab, one about Wanda’s red leather jacket. A haughty claim that red leather jackets are  _her_  thing, but since Wanda started wearing them, she can’t. Pietro trails just behind, his silvery blonde hair perfectly messy as always. Bucky’s gaze falls to  _you_.

In spite of the miserable weather, a tiny skirt that leaves your legs, tanned from your luxurious holiday, on display. A simple but tight-fitted white t-shirt. A black leather jacket, one that most likely costs as much as a year of tuition fees.

Bucky’s steely eyes narrow at Pietro’s arm draped casually around your shoulders. Murmurs pass through the crowd, small ripples as classmates whisper to one another.  _Are they together?_  Bucky wonders idly too. A slight stab of envy he quickly quells. Even in his dislike of you, he can’t deny that you’re pretty. A cute smile and unabashed confidence. You turn heads wherever you go. Not a single person on campus that doesn’t know who you are.

Bucky’s thoughts are shattered by the door swinging open again. Someone struts in. Brock Rumlow. Bearing the kind of grin that makes skin crawl, he stops in front of your desk. He leans on it in what he imagines to be casual fashion, but it’s an overt show of power.

“Hey, sweetness.” he drawls, Natasha feigns a bout of vomit.

“Hey, Brock. What’s up?” you answer, flashing him your famous smile.

“I’m having a party on Friday night.”

“That sounds fun.”

“I want you to be there.”

“A personal invitation from Brock Rumlow. A girl can’t turn that down.”

A loud  _ahem_. A man with salt and pepper hair sets his satchel down on the front desk with a pointed expression. Professor Bruce Banner. A cross of his arms and a peer through his spectacles. He hopes it’s intimidating.

“Mr. Rumlow, I had no idea you were taking my class.”

“Don’t worry, I was leaving,” retorts Brock, with a smug grin. He winks back at you, receiving a giggle for his efforts. “See you Friday, sweetness.”

“While I appreciate you like to keep your social calendar busy, please save it for outside my classroom.” warns Professor Banner, his gaze less than threatening.

“Sorry, sir. You have my undivided attention.” you pout, leaning forward and smiling sweetly.

Professor Banner blushes profusely, much to the class’ amusement. Now a violent shade of crimson, he quickly pulls out his stash of papers from his satchel, rambling about the syllabus. Bucky picks up his pen immediately, jotting down notes hurriedly in an attempt not to miss a single thing. He’s successful for a mere few minutes. Concentration waves and his patience wears thin as your and Wanda’s whispers buzz in his left ear. As Professor Banner reels off textbook recommendations and essay deadlines, Bucky’s agitation spikes until his blood boils vehemently.

“Hey!” he hisses, leaning across the aisle, blue eyes flashing with anger. “Can you keep it down?”

“Shut up, Barnes.” you whisper, rolling your eyes at him.

“No,  _you_  shut up! Some of us are trying to learn!”

“Don’t worry, Barnes. You kiss Banner’s ass so much he’d give you full marks even if you turned in a piece of paper with your shit smeared all over it.”

“Some of us work hard for what we deserve. Daddy’s money doesn’t solve everything for us!”

Professor Banner’s voice rings through the air. His pen perched in his hand as he looks wearily in the direction of the disturbance. You and Bucky. Both leaning far into the aisle as insults are viciously spat in turn. Bucky shifts back into his seat, flushing hotly with embarrassment. The prickle on his nape telling him that all eyes bore into him.

“Is there a problem?” presses Professor Banner, looking between you.

“No.” Comes a reply in unison.

“Good. Then you don’t mind me pairing you up for this project.”

“ _What_?” you cry, staring at Professor Banner in disbelief.

“Professor, you can’t be serious!” says Bucky, completely aghast. “This project counts for twenty percent of our final grade!”

“Well, then you two had better work hard. No, it’s final.”

A pout that Professor Banner ignores, much to your chagrin. Bucky tries hard to resume taking notes. It only results in him writing so forcefully his pen snaps cleanly in half. Snatching the replacement that Steve offers, he’s silent for the duration of the lecture. An oddity, he’s usually the one answering the questions. This is  _not_  how he anticipated the year starting. On your part, you huff and reluctantly agree to meet Bucky later that week. The sooner you complete this project the better. Seemingly the one thing you can agree on.

It rolls around far too soon. An hour, because that’s as small a dose of Bucky as you can manage. Black jeans and your leather jacket. Dark glasses perched in your tousled hair, the rain having cleared for an evening that’s soaked in burning sunshine. A stark contrast to the faded grey sweatpants that Bucky’s clad in. An old high school t-shirt, one that’s snug on his rounded tummy. He tugs at the hem self-consciously, an iron-clad expression that dares you to insult him. You simply roll your eyes, his own raking over you in turn.

“Are you going to just stand there and check me out all day, Barnes?”

“I wasn’t checking you out,” he insists, stepping aside. “I’m just surprised you’re here early.”

“Whatever.”

Boots echoing, you march past Barnes and he’s treated to a waft of your perfume. His eyes flicker to your ass, just for a moment, and he’s grateful you don’t notice as he chides himself. A soft  _thump_  as you dump your bag on the already cluttered table. A glance that’s cast around the tiny apartment. Not entirely the more luxurious accommodation you’re used to, but it certainly bears the marks of an apparent bachelor pad. Steve out for drinks with his Ultimate Frisbee team, it’s quiet. Only you and Bucky.

“Your boyfriend not in?”

“Steve’s not my boyfriend!” Bucky splutters, plopping down in a chair.

“Don’t be offended,” you say, neatly sliding into the seat beside him. “You make a cute couple.”

“He’s  _not_  my boyfriend,” he growls. “I was in a relationship with Vivian!”

“That’s cute. But, really. Rogers, no?”

“ _No_.”

“Hm, interesting,” you muse. “I’ll have to tell Sam.”

Bucky quirks a brow, all too eager to bring the conversation into safer waters. The project Professor Banner has partnered you up for. A few disgruntled remarks about working together, you both share the same sentiment. Bucky mumbles something under his breath. You’d pay closer attention, but you can’t help but notice how his eyes are a very particular shade of blue.

Bucky confuses you. You don’t doubt he’s a nice enough guy. Smart, evidently. Loyal to his friends. You’re yet to hear a bad word about him. He’s not as outgoing as you, the parties he attends few and far between. That’s not to say he’s the shy, quiet nerd. You’ve spotted him at varsity games and he’s won a few quiz nights in the student pub, a big grin that you’d consider charming if you didn’t feel a surge of anger every time you looked at him. He’s sporting a little extra weight as of recent and you quickly avert your gaze at the thought he looks cute.

It quickly dissipates when you realise Bucky’s talking to you as if you’re  _stupid_. An all too judgmental expression that makes you scowl. A swell of smug pride as he watches your leather jacket slide down your shoulders, revealing your silky black camisole beneath. His mouth runs dry, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and he’s furious with himself. Thundering as you smirk at him and God, he couldn’t care less that you’re pretty. Not when you make his blood boil so.

“Are you gonna contribute at all?” he sneers, flicking through the textbook.

“If you’re done with your monologue I might.” you spit back, picking up a pen.

The shrill ring of your phone, bag vibrating and you gesture towards it. A roll of Bucky’s eyes, but he retrieves it for you. A miscalculation, the contents spill everywhere. A half-hearted apology as he hastily shoves lipstick and tampons back in, eyes rolling instinctively as you greet Wanda. A stapled set of papers. Professor Banner’s messy scrawl in the corner. The test he set you the first day back.  _Full marks_.

Bucky gawks. A rapid succession of blinks as if he hopes it’s a mere hallucination. How the  _hell_  did you get full marks? An uncomfortable mix of awe, shock and envy swirls in his gut. You’re pretty and popular, nights are spent partying and days spent instagramming coffee. And still, you’ve  _beat_  him on a test. Your gaze falls on what he holds, phone call ending abruptly as you snatch the test back.

“Do you mind?” you snarl.

“You got full marks.” he mumbles, still in disbelief.

“No-one asked you to look.”

“But, you got  _full_   _marks_.” he repeats, his eyes as wide as saucers. “That was a  _hard_  test.”

"And? You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“You don’t get it. Even  _I_  struggled with that test. And I’m top of the class!”

“Your humility knows no bounds, Barnes.”

“Are you- did you- never mind. Forget it.”

“Forget what?” you ask sharply. “Do you think I cheated?”

Bucky splutters, his silence speaking volumes and something in you snaps. The chair scrapes loudly as you rise to your feet, shoving your possessions back in your bag.

“You are such an  _asshole_!” you hiss. “God forbid I should actually be smart and perfectly capable of getting good grades!”

“I never said you weren’t smart!” he cries, standing too. “You just don’t talk about your grades!”

“What, so I need to advertise them now? The way you do?” you scoffed, pulling your jacket back on.

“I don’t advertise my grades!”

“You don’t exactly go out of your way to hide them either!”

“I’m sorry I’m proud of my hard work!”

“You’re so full of yourself, Barnes!”

You detest how shrill your voice is. A hand on the doorknob as your chest rises and falls heavily. Red rage courses through you. The anger in your eyes mirrored in Bucky’s, his own breath laboured too as he approaches almost menacingly.

“You’re fuckin’  _joking_ ,” he barks. “ _I’m_  the one that’s full of myself?”

“Yes, you are, Barnes! You walk around with that stupid, bitter expression on your face, looking down at everyone that doesn’t spend their life in the library like you! I am so sick of it!”

Tension that rises rapidly. An uncomfortable heat thickening the air. Sparks fly dangerously. Bucky’s so close now, his strut murderous as you rant about how he has you all figured out. He’s going crazy. You’re driving him out of his mind. The anger that flushes your face only making you more attractive and it’s so  _frustrating_.

Bucky growls. A gasp as your back hits the front door. A hand either side of your head as your breathing quickens impossibly. His eyes lock with yours. A refusal to back down. You wait for the other to make a move, a test to see whose resolve crumbles first.

“I hate you.” he snarls.

“I hate you more.” you retort.

Wrong and right in equal measure. A bruising kiss. Bucky’s lips crashing down on yours. God, it shouldn’t feel so  _good_  but he groans so  _sinfully_  that it makes you gasp. A gasp he takes advantage of, his tongue sliding past your lips and you groan too, part arousal and part annoyance. The deliberate press of your body against his and you take pride in the way he whimpers.

Fervent kisses rife with a hungry need. Open-mouthed and messy, a clash of teeth and a nip at Bucky’s bottom lip to remind him just who’s in charge. And then your leather jacket slides down your shoulders again, landing at your ankles. Jolts of arousal prickling at his spine as he tries to register what’s happening.

 _Shit_. You’re scrabbling at his t-shirt, clawing at the hem and suddenly, self-consciousness ebbs in. Worry that you’ll be repulsed by his soft middle. Nervous butterflies as he’s never done this before. You draw back, yanking your camisole over your head, shimmy out of your jeans all too fast and he tries not to lose his head because you’re you, and you’re standing in front of him in your underwear.  _Shit_.

“What?” you say through shaky breaths.

Eyes darkened with desire. Both yours and his. Bright pink dusts Bucky’s cheeks. A moment of cuteness that breaks through the fog of furor. He ducks his head. A roll of your eyes at the inconvenience of his sudden shyness.

“What?” you tease, pressing your breasts to his chest. “Have you never seen a naked girl before, Barnes?”

Between the fractional widening of his eyes and the gasp that flies from his lips, you realise the gravity of your words.

“Barnes?” you ask quietly. “Are you a virgin?”

“You don’t have to be a bitch.” he snaps, eyes flashing.

“I’m- could you take your head out of your ass for  _one_   _second_?” you snap back. “I’m not making fun of you!”

“Yeah, I’m- I’m a virgin.” he mumbles, in a tone that suggests he’s furious with himself.

“Wait,” blurts Bucky, as you bend to retrieve your jeans. “What’re you doing?”

“Do you  _want_  to have sex with me?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, the sharp angle now one hard line. A vein ticks in his cheek.

“What? Virgins beneath you, princess?”

“Actually,” you smirk, breasts pressed up against him once more. “There’s something…  _alluring_  about me being your first, Barnes.”

Bucky’s breath catches as you trail kisses along his jawline. Gentle ones, but they send tremors down his spine all the same. His cock twitches in his sweatpants. Your teeth scraping along the shell of his ear and nipping at his lobe on the right side of rough and it’s so  _arousing_. He almost whines when you draw back.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want to.”

Bucky’s bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat but you pay it little attention. Your own arousal far better disguised than his. He stands at the foot of the bed, blue eyes blown wide with lust and even though it’s  _Bucky_ , the guy you  _hate_ , you can’t help but feel a thrum in your core. His jaw slackens as you reach around to unfasten your bra.

“Try not to blow your load too soon, Barnes.”

Bucky growls menacingly. Mouth opening with a sassy remark at the ready. The words die away in favour of a soft gasp. White hot flames lick at his skin, brain blanking at the sight of your bared breasts. He scowls at your smirk, your fingers already hooked in the waistband of your panties as you slide them off. And suddenly, Bucky’s sweatpants are too tight. The hard outline of his cock rather noticeable through the thin grey cotton. He looks as if he could swallow you whole. And you’d let him. Impatience growing, you reach for the hem of his t-shirt.

“Your turn, Barnes.”

“Wait! I, uh…”

“Barnes,” you say quietly, and his eyes flick up to yours. “Take off that god awful shirt so I can show you just how much I want to fuck you right now.”

There’s no sweetness in your tone. But no desperation either. An animosity fuelled sexual tension that has Bucky tentatively yanking his t-shirt off. He feels the stab of nerves in his gut, sure that you’ll change your mind. A lump in his throat as he sees your eyes drink in his soft tummy and how it juts over the waistband of his sweatpants. But you’re not repulsed.

No, you step close. So close that Bucky can feel your pebbled nipples grazing over his chest. And just like that, the heat mounts. He growls when you nip at his neck, sucking harshly enough to leave a small bruise. Another nip at his collarbone. It’s all harsh and urgent, even the way you kiss down his middle, scattering a few kisses over his fluffy tummy. A giggle and he yanks you upright.

“If you’re gonna fuckin’ laugh at me- “

“I think it’s cute,” you grin, and he gapes. “Don’t look so surprised, Barnes. I can hate you and think you’re cute at the same time.”

“You gonna keep runnin’ that mouth, or put it to use?” he growls, cheeks coloured pink.

“Begging for me so soon?”

Bucky is offered a sneer before you drop to your knees. A cocktail of need and anticipation as you tug his sweatpants down, underwear too. Your eyes darken as his cock bobs free, lightly slapping his tummy and his need grows when you lick your lips at the sight. An odd combination of pure loathing and lust. He’s never made it this far with a girl before. He knows he rolled his eyes at your earlier remark but now he really is worried about coming too soon.

It’s utterly  _sinful_ , the gasp that falls from Bucky’s lips. Pink and swollen from how hard he bites down. You only have a hand wrapped around him, stroking softly. And yet, he  _trembles_. It’s exciting, arousing beyond belief knowing  _you’re_ the first to make him feel this good. Prideful, even. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as you boldly lick the tip of his cock, earning a lewd moan. His eyes have blackened, only a rim of blue barely visible and he growls again, bucking his hips forward. You huff back, but oblige, wrapping your lips around him and dragging your tongue along a vein on the underside.

Bucky hates that it’s  _you_. He hates that it’s  _you_  bringing him such pleasure but  _God_ , it feels too  _good_. He hates that you’re so  _smug_  about being his first. But, he loves that he has you on your knees. It’s filthy and pretty, your mouth straining around his thick cock. He groans in bliss. The groan drowned out by a frustrated huff when you pull off him. Not that he minds all too much. As much as he’d love to watch you his swallow his come, he wants to fuck you.

A harsh push and Bucky’s back hits the mattress. A look of annoyance even as you straddle him. His eyes drift down to your breasts again and you smirk devilishly. It’s quite cute actually. He’s akin to an inexperienced schoolboy, eyes alight with wonder at his first pair of naked breasts.

“Not going to come just from looking, are you, Barnes?” You tease. “You  _can_ touch me.”

“Don’t need your fuckin’ permission.” he snarls.

Bucky’s touch is a little clumsy at first. Evidently too busy marvelling that his hands really are cupping your breasts. And then, when the initial excitement lessens, he squeezes gently and you whimper. Feeling a jolt of pleasure, his touch is more confident. No less gentle than you, though. Fingers pinch your nipples harshly, his expression turning greedy when you whine. A roll of your hips, you grind down on his cock and his eyes flutter, fingers faltering and now you’re the greedy one.

“I think I like this,” you hum, a hand either side of his head. “You under me and so desperate.”

“I’m  _not_  desperate,” he chokes out through gritted teeth. “Sure as hell not for  _you_.”

Another grind of your hips, your arousal glistens on his cock and he curses colourfully.

“It  _sure as hell_ sounds like you are.”

“Think you were better with your mouth stuffed with my cock,” he growls, fingers in a bruising grip on your hips. “Only time you’ve ever shut up.”

A harsh swat of his hand as he  _spanks_  you. It’s so  _rough_ , it stings and it’s so unexpectedly  _hot_. Your moan rings through the air and Bucky smirks mischievously for one precious moment. The premise of sex lingers in the air, suffocating you both and you rock your hips. He’s a little disappointed that you don’t seem embarrassed at your little outburst. You simply laugh and smirk down at him.

“Oh, he plays  _rough_.”

“Shut up, princess.”

 _Princess_. He means it cruelly but it only succeeds in turning you on even more. You’re  _wet_ ,  _soaked_  for him and unable to bear the tension any longer. Your smirk returns when he digs in his bedside drawer. A box of condoms. Unopened, the plastic seal intact. He blushes furiously, cock twitching as you easily tear it open. Restraint clouds his eyes, lips pursed as you roll the condom down his length and his breath falls in short, shallow pants as you hover over him.

“How do you want this?”

A gasp of your own. Bedsheets hot and coarse against your back. Temperature spiking in the small bedroom. The salty, musky scent of Bucky swirls with undeniable scent of sex. Cock in his hand, he circles your dripping entrance until you whine in frustration. Nails bite into the skin of his shoulders unapologetically.

“Get  _on_  with it, Barnes.”

“Patience ain’t your best virtue.”

“When I want something, I get it.”

“Well, right now’s not ‘bout what  _you_  want. It’s 'bout what  _I_  want.”

The breath is snatched from your lungs. Bucky’s gasp all too filthy as he slides into you and  _God_ , it feels so  _right_  when it should be so  _wrong_. His low growl rumbles over your moan as he stills. Heaven and hell all at once. You’re so hot and wet, squeezing him so tight it’s better than he  _ever_  imagined. Pure ecstasy etched on your face and he takes prides knowing  _he’s_  the reason for it. 

An experimental rock of his hips. He cares little that he’s louder than you. A fleeting worry he’s not doing it right but then you moan his name like it’s the only thing you know and he shamelessly quickens his hips. It’s fast, frenzied. A push and pull. A battle of dominance. Little tenderness in how he pins your hips to the mattress. No compassion behind the way you bite at his shoulder.

Rough and unrelenting, Bucky’s bound to leave you sore. Neither of you has it in you to care. Driven by your own desires and sexual tension finally at its peak. Every slam of his hips a harmonious blend of pleasure and pain. His tummy drags over yours. Your gasps couple with his grunts. Sweat slicked skin. Walls already fluttering around him. You’re so close. Teetering on the precipice of anger-fuelled bliss. The look in his eyes startles you.

You hate Bucky. You hate Bucky  _so_   _much_. But  _God_ , do you need him to make you come. Bucky, he hates you, too. He  _hates_  that you’re pretty and smart and that this feels so good with you. Hair wild on his pillow and your scent on his skin. A wolfish growl muffled by the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as he comes. Ecstasy consuming him so intensely he loses himself. It’s enough to make you come undone. Your back arches off the bed with a shaky gasp, thighs trembling and bliss crashing through you.

Not one to stand on ceremony, you push Bucky off. Clothes clutched in your arms, you retreat to the bathroom. Returning to find him sitting up in bed, fully clothed too. An expression you can’t quite discern on his face. Only the ghost of what’s just transpired and it looms like a great secret.

“This doesn’t change anything.” he says stoically, voice gravelly.

“It better not,” you warn, leaning close and for a moment he thinks you’re about to kiss him. “Do me a favour, Barnes. Don’t fall in love with me.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new academic year but a story that’s nothing new. He’s studious and she likes to party. He hates her and she despises him. He’s a virgin and she’s his first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves. I am absolutely blown away by your response to this story. Honestly, I can’t thank you enough. It makes me so immeasurably happy knowing you enjoy my writing. Thank you.

Quiet yawns mingle with the whisper of pages. Hoods pulled down low. Arabica coffee wafts through the shelves. Most seats cold and untouched. Tired eyes awash with a haze that only students know. Only a handful who seem to be refreshed and alert. Bucky Barnes amongst them.

Laptop open and a half-finished report that sits accusingly behind an internet tab. A form of self-torture perhaps. He hunches his shoulders, eyes dancing but his corner of the library is undisturbed as always. Facebook. Photographic evidence of a party he wouldn’t be caught dead at. Or invited to, either. Bucky scoffs with every scroll. The discovery of the Huji Cam app and suddenly the popular kids think they’re  _cool_. And yet, perhaps the only one who actually has any claim on the title is you.

Bucky stops at a photograph of you. Messy drunks in the background, you take centre stage. A sultry look in your eyes and a red cup in your hand, the straw perched seductively between your lips. You look pretty.  _Sexy_. Your eyes bore into him and he feels a stab of heat. Strange, though, it’s more to do with how close Brock Rumlow stands to you, his fingers barely brushing your ass.

Three days. It’s been  _three_   _days_  since that fateful afternoon. Three days since Bucky lost his virginity to you. His emotions run wild. An inharmonious symphony of anger, pride, primal masculinity and indifference. A dirty secret is what it feels like. He’s held back on telling Steve because he can’t, he  _won’t_  admit that the first girl he was ever with was  _you_.

“You keep telling me you don’t have a crush on her anymore, but I have to tell you, Buck, I’m not sure I believe you.”

Steve looms over him, peering at the laptop to see what has Bucky so enamoured. A scowl, mostly because Steve whistles lowly. He shrugs. Just because Bucky hates you, it doesn’t mean he can’t admit you’re pretty. And judging by the blush on Bucky’s face, he thinks so, too. A well-aimed elbow that has the blonde wincing, before he, too, plops down in a chair to start on an essay.

Concentration and focus that seem to escape Bucky. A page in a book he rereads a dozen times before accepting defeat. Every thought consumed by you and it’s  _maddening_. It’s as if that one encounter with you has altered his life entirely. He wonders if it’s the same for you. The voice in his head laughs. As if you would give him a second thought. An inexperienced little boy who is nowhere near as muscled as Rumlow or even toned like your friend Pietro. He prickles at the prospect of being with a girl, certain that she too, would be less than impressed. Steve shatters the bubble, rubbing his stomach and complaining of hunger. An eagerness to not be left alone with his thoughts, he agrees readily.

Shrill screams fly through the air. Hearty laughs. Bucky freezes in his tracks, rooted to the library steps. Pietro Maximoff, he steams ahead with only a glance over his shoulder at his friends that trail behind. Wanda yells for them to wait, bright red in the face and struggling to remain upright. Sam’s a little sweaty, but still going strong, even with you on his back. That stab of heat again, as he notices Sam’s hands wrapped around your bare thighs and your arms looped around his neck. Your stomach, exposed because you wear a sports bra, flush on Sam’s back.

You bounce to your feet when Sam stops beneath a large tree, leaning against it to catch his breath. Wanda all but collapses at your feet. Her brother, he limbers up. A show off, he earns himself a punch on the shoulder. You glance up, catching sight of Bucky. His gaze trained to you from where he stands on the library steps. Lip caught between his teeth and brows furrowed. He tugs at his grey hoodie where it clings to his soft tummy. Determination etched on his face, he says something to his companion, Steve Rogers.

It’s instinctive, your hands finding your hips. An almost intimidating stance, even Wanda sits up as the two approach. Solemn greetings met with equally sombre acknowledgements.

“I need to talk to you,” blurts Bucky. “‘Bout the project.”

“What about it?” you ask suspiciously.

Bucky shifts his feet, floundering for an excuse before gritting out a request to speak to you in private. A roll of your eyes, you grab his wrist and lead him far enough from your friends to put him at ease. A concealed smile because you note how Sam strikes up conversation with Steve.

Bucky  _does_  mention the project. He laments that you barely did anything last time. How he refuses to fall behind. You cut him off with a sigh, muttering how he’s learned nothing after the last time he accused you of not caring about your education. And then he  _blushes_ , and it’s quite sweet. All you did was ask what he really wanted to talk to you about. His bright blue eyes flicker over your sweat slicked skin, following the trail of a droplet that disappears beneath your sports bra. You can only imagine what he’s thinking and it has you smirking something dirty.

“I don’t know how to have sex.” blurts Bucky in one breath.

“What?” you blink, completely bewildered.

“I- don’t make me say it again.” he growls dangerously, face engulfed in flames.

“Barnes- “

“I wanna know how to make a girl feel good, alright?” he explains, spitting the words out rather forcefully. “Teach me.”

“You want me to teach you how to have sex?” you ask for confirmation that you’ve heard him correctly.

“Forget it- “

“What’s in it for me?” you tease and he fixes you with a murderous stare.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he hisses. “What, you- the satisfaction, alright?”

You hum musically, a smug smirk on your lips as you hold out your hand and ask for a pen. Bucky jerks his head, confusion clouds his eyes but he obliges. You pull the cap off with your teeth, pushing the sleeve of his hoodie up to write your number on his arm. He’s seemingly surprised, perhaps it’s because you accept his offer with little counter. But, you meant what you said about the allure of being his first. And being the one to teach him to pleasure a woman? Oh, that sounds like a  _lot_  of fun.

Later that night finds you in the Student’s Union with your friends. A game of pool that naturally, Sam is winning. A couple of beers in. Onlookers desperate to take part. The buzz of your phone. A text from an unknown number. Wanda notes your smirk, nudges you under the impression that it’s Brock Rumlow. You don’t correct her.

_**Bucky:**  Hey, it’s me._

_**Bucky:** Let me know when you’re free this week._

_**You:** Depends on who’s asking…_

_**Bucky:** It’s Bucky._

_**You:** Who the hell is Bucky?_

_**Bucky:** You’re a bitch._

_**You:** Is that any way to talk a girl into bed?_

**_You:_ ** _First lesson, Barnes. The art of seduction._

Bucky stares at his screen with bewilderment. Completely unsure of what your message means. Are you going to seduce him? Do you want  _him_  to seduce  _you_? By the time Thursday rolls around, a scowl adorns his face because God, girls are so  _confusing_. Steve flashes him a knowing grin. Clint unapologetically tells him he ate the last oreo. Natasha wishes him luck, promising to scratch out your eyeballs if you act like a bigger pain in the ass than you already are. Bucky ducks his head to hide his blush, muttering about how he’ll probably be a while.

“Hey, Barnes.”

“Uh, hey.”

Bucky glares at your smirk, mind racing and he’s barely past the front door. Even in the comfort of your own home, you look so pretty. A pair of tiny, blush coloured satin shorts. An almost sheer white t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. Not so much as a scrap of make-up but it’s not as if you need it. He’s ogling you, rather unsubtly. Rolls his eyes when you smirk wider.

Bucky glances at your ass as he follows you. Of course you live in a nicer dorm. Your halls are right in the centre of campus, brand new and brilliant white. You share an apartment with your three friends. Only Wanda home apparently, she smiles as she puts the kettle on, offering him a cup of tea. He blinks and she laughs.

“I’m not trying to poison you,” she promises, holding up a box of jasmine tea. “We might not be friends but that doesn’t mean I can’t be nice.”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”

Wanda waggles her fingers as she leaves for the library, her own tea in a floral flask. Bucky wonders if she knows. He means to ask, but you slide neatly into the chair beside him and he’s startled by how  _close_  you sit. The smell of your hair drifts over him, a shiver races down his spine. A huff of frustration, more at himself than you as he tries to decipher if this is what you meant by  _the art of seduction_. Your smile gives nothing away. The mere suggestion you should start on the project. Full of suspicions he brushes aside in favour of what seems to be a momentary truce.

A pleasantness, one that’s most unexpected. There’s a few playful jibes strewn in here and there, but you accompany each one with a sweet, giggly smile. A smile flickers on Bucky’s face when you cite that he makes a very valid point about to format the work. It fills him with pride, such a simple compliment that makes him feel  _smart_. And yet, his concentration dips every so often.

Heat prickles at his skin and he can he feel himself blushing all over. Your bare thigh pressed to his denim clad one. Your naked shoulder you keep running a finger over. Your foot briefly wrapped around his ankle. Your hand over his when you take the pencil from him. He’s drawn to your bottom lip, carefully tugged between your teeth and he’s overcome with the urge capture your mouth with his. Bucky clears his throat.

“So, uh, when do we start… you know.”

“Your lesson? Oh, we started the second you walked through that door.”

Bucky blinks at you. The return of that innocent schoolboy expression that you have a growing fondness for. It’s sweet, the way he colours pink as you take his hand in yours, drawing lazy circles on his palm. He licks his lips as you tilt your head. You giggle, and he thinks it’s part of your seduction but truthfully, it’s at his naivety.

“Barnes, you can’t just expect a girl to jump into bed with you,” you say, lowering your voice just so. “You have to make her  _want_  to be there.”

Bucky visibly gulps, lashes fluttering. You shift closer, brushing your breasts against his arm. Heat blooms in your belly. Arousal rages in your eyes just as it does in his.

“A girl wants to feel special,” you continue, leaning in far enough for his breath to hitch. “She wants to feel as if she’s the only one you have eyes for.”

“H-how do I do that?” he eases out in a voice gruff with want.

“Flirt with her,” you giggle, raking a hand through his hair. “Subtly. Let her see how badly you want her.”

You can feel the heat radiating from Bucky. See the erection that tents his jeans when you run a finger down his soft middle. He trembles beneath your touch as desire clouds your judgement, desperate to take control.

“A girl wants to see it in your eyes,” you whisper, nose ghosting along his jawline. “A promise that you’ll worship her.”

There’s a quiet groan that catches in Bucky’s throat and you almost whimper at how much it turns you on. His breath fans your cheek. Lips invitingly parted and all but  _begging_  for yours. But, still, you tease him, letting the tension between you mount.

“She wants to feel it in your touch when you put your hand on her lower back,” your own voice is low with need as you tilt your face. “Fingers close to her ass.”

Your lips are mere milimetres apart now. Bucky’s breath ragged and his eyes dark with desire, the pupils blown so wide there’s barely any blue left. And you, you’re  _wet_. Panties damp with how you crave him. It’s as much a seduction for you as it for him. Trapping poor, innocent Bucky in your little web.

“She wants to feel it in your kiss. She wants to know you’re going to pleasure her in ways she’s only dreamed of.”

It’s electric. The energy between you. Nothing but the sound of each other’s breath and hearts pounding. Your walls pulse around nothing. Clit thrums. Every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from dragging him to your bed. A wanton mess hidden behind a cool exterior.

“Do you think you could do that, Barnes? Pleasure me like I’ve only dreamed?”

“Yes,” he gruffs out, unable to tear his gaze away from you. “God, yes.”

Your eyes flicker down to Bucky’s lips. Wet and pink. You can still remember how soft they are. A quiet giggle escapes you, a look of outrage flooding his eyes.

“Where the hell are you goin’?” he snarls, as you rise to your feet. “You- what the  _fuck_?”

You sneer, cupping his jaw and tilting his face up to yours.

“Tonight. Meet me at Saint’s,” you order, gaze raking over every feature of his face. “You’re going to pretend you don’t who I am. And I’m going to pretend I don’t know who you are. You want to fuck me? Seduce me first. That’s your lesson.”

Bucky rages and rants as he all too furiously shoves his textbooks into his backpack. Your own chest rises and falls with laboured breath and you retreat to your room. Back to the door and impossibly turned on, his rough voice filters through and it’s so  _wrong_. You’ll hate yourself for it but you’re helpless but to slide your fingers past the waistband of your shorts. You’re so wet, so  _aroused_ you can barely think straight. A whimper falls past your lips, one you hope he doesn’t hear and at the same time, you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re desperate for release, chasing bliss as you circle your clit. Pretending it’s Bucky’s fingers as you tremble when you come.

Head spinning, nothing to do with your tequila and everything to do with  _Bucky_. A small sip, letting the alcohol drop past your lips. Pacing yourself because it’s all you can do to not let yourself be caught up in the whirlwind of your afternoon. You’ve been here a little over ten minutes. A glance around you and though there are plenty of eyes that watch you. Not the ones you wait for.

The dim light of Saint’s earns itself a title of being the perfect bar for Bucky to practice flirting. There’s little chance of being seen on a Thursday night. Packed as always, but more so with locals than students. Music booms, bottles upon bottles lit up by lurid green neons. Shoulders brush, and then there’s a familiar voice.

“Excuse me, can I buy you a drink?”

 _Bucky_. Voice strained as he stands beside you. Barely audible above the din of whatever electro playlist the bartender has opted for. Shoulders rolled back, a nervous smile plastered between a light smattering of stubble. It’s too jarring. He holds himself too upright, his arms too stiff over his tummy. A part of you wants to reassure him, remind him you’ve seen his fluffy middle. You don’t. Bucky’s not asked you to help him with his insecurities. He’s asked you to teach him how to have sex. You straighten your shoulders. The ice cool front that is your custom. Perhaps this lesson is going to be tougher than you anticipated.

“I already have one.” You reply boredly, your half finished tequila held aloft.

“Right,” nods Bucky, evidently caught between annoyance and nausea. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

Your bark of laughter is hardly audible over the music. Not caring enough to watch him weave through the crowd. Truth be told, you expected more vivacity. He’s all too easily walked away with his tail tucked between his legs. A shake of your head and you sip at your tequila. Music washes over you once more. The warmth of the beer scented air settling on your skin. And even though you’ve had little to drink, your brain is foggy enough to contemplate going home with the handsome man in the far corner.

No sooner do you drain your glass is a fresh one placed down. You raise an eyebrow at the bartender and it’s with an amused grin he tells you it’s from the guy at the opposite of the bar. Stunned, you glance up and meet the sparkling eyes of Bucky. A grin, crooked and charming. It has arousal jolting down your spine but you’re too good at your own game to let it show. Instead you cock an eyebrow. Glance down at your drink, only a little impressed that he’s ordered you exactly what you like. And then your eyes drift back to him, darting to the empty stool beside you.

“I told you I already had a drink.” you offer teasingly when he approaches.

“You did,” he grins toothily. “But you didn’t have a drink with  _me_.”

“Is that what this is?”

“What can I say? I needed an excuse to talk to you,” he says, and even though his voice is dangerously low you hear him loud and clear. “A beautiful girl like you drinking alone? You’re waitin’ for someone.”

“And I suppose that’s you, is it?” you taunt a little mercilessly.

“I sure hope so.” he chuckles, head tilted to one side.

“You seem confident about it.”

“Yeah?” he breathes. “Thank God, ‘cause you’re real pretty and I’m just trying not to make a fool of myself.”

And just like that, a small sliver of truth that’s  _annoyingly_  charming to you. A moment of sweetness amongst the sex. There’s a twinkle in his blue eyes and a genuinity to his lopsided smile. And you  _giggle_. A giggle you can’t hold back and Bucky grins wider, his expression one of relief before it darkens into something more devious. A flutter low in your core. One that grows stronger with each passing minute.

A hot bar. A telltale flush on Bucky’s face. An array of empty glasses between you both. Lines blurred even if you don’t know it yet. Desire tickles all over. Whole body burning up whenever his eyes roam over you. A game of push and pull. A battle of dominance. Every flirtatious remark he makes equally met with an outrageously coy one from you. A hand on his arm that has him biting his lip sinfully. Lashes twitching when you stroke his ankle with your foot. A slight dip forward and he none too subtly glances down your dress. A clenched jaw and you know you have him right where you want him.

Bucky’s patience slowly grows thin. Heat stabs at his spine, pools in his stomach, blackens his thoughts. Cock twitching in his pants every time you ghost your fingers over him. Urgency grows, frustration spiking to an unbearable level. An aggravating blend of desire and frustration at how you tease him unforgivingly. The sultry look in your eyes. The low neckline of your dress. The fingers drawing circles on his thigh. A primal need to take you there and then.

Yet, amidst the sheer agony of hot, needy want, there’s a glimmer of  _pride_. Bucky isn’t blind to the men who ogle you. He growls at their vulgar appreciation but more than anything, he feels an overwhelming sense of  _satisfaction_. A rare chance when his ego is stroked. Tonight, he’s just another guy at the bar talking to a gorgeous girl. Tonight, he’s not the guy missing his ex-girlfriend. Tonight, you’re eyeing him like you could swallow him whole, soft tummy that strains his plaid shirt and all. He’d let you. He  _wants_  you to.

Perhaps it’s the tequila, perhaps it’s how hard he grows in his jeans. The air thickens until he’s suffocating with raw, animalistic desire. Your eyes, Bucky notices they’ve darkened. The past few minutes spent in ravishing silence and then he gasps lewdly. Jaw slack as your fingers wrap around his wrist and he stumbles after you, the stranger facade evaporating as you all but shove him into the dingy bathroom and lock the door.

The stench of piss and spilled beer. Neither of which dissuade you from pushing Bucky up against the door and crashing your lips on his. Remnants of tequila and salt. A distinct taste of him. A kiss that’s furious and sloppy, lips slanting and open mouthed as your fingers scrabble at the fastening of his jeans.

“H-here?” Bucky chokes out against your lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, yanking his jeans down. “Did you want a bed covered in rose petals?”

“Fuck you.” he growls, fingers digging into your hips punishingly.

“If you shut up you just might,” you huff back. “Do you have a condom?”

Bucky blinks. Jaw dropping as you pull your panties off neatly. Hitch your dress up around your waist. A roll of your eyes. Tension unbearable and you can’t wait a moment longer. A repeat of your question and he scowls, retrieving one from his wallet. A distasteful joke about how prepared he is for someone who’s worried about getting laid. You gasp when he whirls you around, your hands grip the sink to steady yourself as he looms behind you, eyes meeting in the scuffed mirror.

There’s no measured ease. No sentiment. No gentility. Bucky all but slams into you, the delicious sting of his thick cock stretching you bordering on the right side of pain. His breath, hot and heavy on your neck. Fingers curled tight over your hips. Every thrust feral, he’s too consumed in chasing release. His rounded tummy drags over your ass in your half-bent position. His cock buried deeper than you thought possible. You’re  _scorching_ , completely under his control. Mindless gasps tumbling from your parted lips as you silently beg for more.

It’s filthy and utterly  _debauched_. Bucky catches sight of you in the mirror, sees how  _wrecked_  you looked with your hooded eyes and glistening skin. Your pebbled nipples visible through the thin material of your dress. Your moans fuelling the white hot flames that lick at him. And he chuckles breathlessly. That desire to bite your lip overcomes him again. He tugs down a strap of your dress, groaning at how your breasts threaten to spill. A harsh nip at your shoulder, your neck, growling at the whimpers that fill his ears.

“Don’t you dare leave a mark, Barnes.” you warn, teeth gritted as you rock your hips back to meet his.

“What?” he chuckles evilly. “Precious little princess doesn’t want everyone to know who’s been fucking her?”

There’s a small huff of frustration, quickly drowned out when he scrapes his teeth under your ear. The mirror jolts, your palm forcefully flattened against it and you reach back with the other, fisting your fingers in Bucky’s hair and pulling hard enough to make him grunt.

“You’re an asshole, Barnes!”

“Joke’s on you princess,  _fuck_ , that got me real hard.”

You take it as an invitation to yank harder, hard enough to hurt and Bucky yelps. A string of coarse curses and he retaliates, pressing you so tight against the sink the porcelain grinds against your clit almost painfully. Rough and bruising, but you care little when you’re on the edge. Every slam of his cock driving you closer and closer to oblivion. You tremble, orgasm threatening to ravish you and Bucky looks gone, too. He fucks you in shallow, hard thrusts and then pulls out,  _spanking_  you just as he slides back in and you  _snap_.

Mouth open in a silent scream as you clench around his cock. Legs shaky as your toes curl in your high heels. A burst of sparks behind your closed eyes and the sweet release you’ve been aching for courses through you. Undeniably, the  _hottest_  thing Bucky’s ever witnessed. He loathes how  _good_  you feel. Your tight heat squeezing his cock. An earth shattering orgasm he’s wrenched from you. A swell of pride that tips him over the edge. A hoarse cry muffled when he buries his face in the crook of your neck, losing himself in his own release.

How much time has passed, Bucky’s unsure. Your slight writhe as you pull yourself free, it brings him back to reality. Words slurred but he makes little sense of what he says. A silence that hangs heavily as you both clean yourselves. The faint trace of a purple bruise blossoms on your neck. He’s pleased with himself, even if you shoot him daggers. And then he gulps, ever the blushing schoolboy when you step close enough for your breasts to press flush against his chest. His tummy soft against yours. The ghost of your lips over his neck and he shivers.

“Seduction doesn’t end there, Barnes,” you whisper in a voice that makes his cock twitch with renewed interest. “You have to make sure a girl never forgets you.”

Bucky gasps, head lolling back when you nip at his neck, tongue soothing over the sting. A waft of your perfume and then you’re gone, leaving him to scowl at the all noticeable mark you’ve left on him. A sea of knowing stares, smug smiles and disappointed glares meet him. He pays them little attention, too busy in seeking you out to swagger around as the guy, the unassuming, chubby guy who just landed a hot lay like you. Instead, his eyes fall on Steve, Natasha and Clint and his stomach flips.

“Bucky,” asks a suspicious Natasha. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I was just- “

“Is that a  _hickey_?” she cuts across, eyes widening. “Are you here with someone?”

Bucky doesn’t hear her question, or the several that follow. Just beyond the grimy windows, he spots you offering a lighter to a handsome stranger. A sly smile on your lips and he’s left with a bitter taste in his mouth, tequila rising like bile. The intensity of his gaze catches your notice. An impassive expression as you mouth words he remembers all too well.

_“Remember, Barnes. Don’t fall in love with me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://cametobuyplums.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [If you enjoy my writing please consider buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/cametobuyplums)

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://cametobuyplums.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [If you enjoy my writing please consider buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/cametobuyplums)


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